


Reunion

by Rehfan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:47:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rehfan/pseuds/Rehfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's initial reaction to Sherlock's return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was originally posted on my tumblr, but as it's my first fan fic ever, I thought it deserved to be my first AO3 post as well. Also: a small nod to JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings at the end there. Hope you enjoy.

All the air left the room and John was gasping. Three years had come and gone and for a split second John thought he was insane. And then the man before him spoke his name. Spots appeared before John’s eyes and the room tilted. Instinctively he put out his hand and caught hold of the arm of Sherlock’s old chair. Sherlock.

He looked back at the doorway. The man was still there. Same irritating cheekbones. Same cutting blue eyes that saw everything and felt nothing. Except this time there was a weariness in them he never noticed before. Gasping, he lowered himself to the floor as the man came forward and spoke his name again. “This isn’t happening,” someone said. John realized that it was his voice saying the words. The world went black a moment and he felt his face being gently slapped. Suddenly, John’s hearing and vision were instantly clear and he lunged forward with a right cross to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock fell to the floor and John just stared at his “dead” friend.

“It’s not possible. You’re not here. You fell— I SAW YOU FALL! I SAW it happen!” screamed John. He was shaking.

“John, it was all a trick.” The words Sherlock spoke came back to him and the image of Sherlock on the phone on the roof of St. Bart’s was as clear as if it happened a moment ago. _It was all a trick._ The deep solemn voice telling him that Sherlock’s capabilities were all lies. _Keep your eyes on me. Please._ Now John couldn’t look away from him. He was there. Real as could be. If he needed any more proof the pain in the knuckles of John’s right hand told him that Sherlock’s face was real enough.

“It was all a trick, John,” Sherlock said again, attempting to get up and holding out his hand in a plea for peace. “I had a bit of help to do it. But I assure you that it was all fake. Calm yourself. It’s over now.”

John, ever the military man, got himself up slowly and with as much dignity as he could muster. He straightened his cardigan. He smoothed his hair. But he never took his eyes off Sherlock. Then the anger gripped him. He charged his old friend bodily, grabbing him by the lapels and forcing him into his overstuffed chair until they were nose to nose.

“Don’t you EVER—- EVER—- do that again! Do you understand?! EVER! I was SICK! For YEARS I was SICK! You son-of-a- … You nearly did me in,” John sank to one knee on the floor in front of Sherlock. Still gripping Sherlock’s lapels, his chin fell and he wept. “I was SICK. I was torn apart. You left me.”

“I had to, John,” said Sherlock. “Moriarty had me in check. I had to jump or he would have put a bullet in you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade. I knew that would be his final move. He wanted to hurt me. Not just my reputation, but ME. The only way to hurt someone is to hurt the people they love,” and here Sherlock placed a hand on John’s head, “John, I am sorry. But you are my only friend. I had to convince you that I was gone in order to win your lives back. But it’s alright now. Everything is alright. I have enough evidence against Moriarty. All that’s to be done is to take it to Lestrade.”

John’s head snapped up and his dark blue eyes met Sherlock’s strangely sympathetic ice blue ones.

“You said that you had help,” said John. “Who was it?” Sherlock looked surprised. “Who was it, Sherlock? All I want is a name.”

“Well… Molly Hooper, among others,” said Sherlock.

“Molly!” said John. “What? Molly Hooper? I’ve had lunch with her once a month for the past THREE YEARS and that little cow never said a WORD! What the hell does she—!”

“Calm down, John,” said Sherlock in a most soothing tone.

“Don’t you tell me to calm down, you heartless bastard!” cried John. “You didn’t look me square in the eye every month for three years and lie to me, but you might as well have! How DARE you tell me to calm down!”

“Molly was invaluable to me afterward, John,” said Sherlock. “She’s the one who told me how you were. She was my link to you, to Mrs. Hudson, to everyone. She’s not to be blamed. She knew it was for the best. She knew it was the only way to save you all.”

John stared at Sherlock, mouth agape. Realizing how he must look, he closed his mouth and looked at his hands. They still held the lapels of Sherlock’s coat in a death-grip. Slowly he relaxed them and sank to the floor again. His breath came in short bursts the same way they would if he had been crying for hours. The same way his breath caught after those first few nights of crying all those years ago. He looked at his friend and Sherlock looked at him, bent forward toward him, his eyes in earnest supplication. The two men held this look for what seemed a lifetime.

After a while, John’s breathing eased. Sherlock relaxed his worried look slightly. “Please don’t hate me for saving your life, John,” said Sherlock softly. “I’ve told you before: I don’t have friends. There’s just you. I’m not used to caring whether I hurt people’s feelings or not. And with you, John, I care. I am most profoundly sorry. Please forgive me.” Sherlock thought for a moment and added: “While I was away from you, it made me realize how alone I was before I met you. I’ve never missed anyone before. Ever. But I missed you, John. I missed my friend. Please forgive me.”

John stared at him in silence for so long that Sherlock thought he would have to slap him again. Finally John said, “Promise me one thing, Sherlock.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t ever go where I can’t follow.”

A wry smile crept across Sherlock’s face. “Promise,” he said.


End file.
